My dad walked away from a wreck that should have killed him — now he won't stop talking about his truck
So this happened about a year and a half ago and I still get chills thinking about it.
My dad was driving home on the interstate when a guy in a cargo van crossed the center line and hit him nearly head-on. The impact was bad enough that the whole front end of my dad's pickup got pushed back into the cab. Emergency responders had to use the jaws of life to get the door open because the frame had warped so much it was completely jammed shut.
He walked away with two cracked ribs and some bruising on his collarbone from the seatbelt. That's it. The ER doctor literally said to him, "I don't know how you're standing here right now."
The truck was a total loss, obviously. And honestly? My dad — who has never been a sentimental guy about vehicles — got a little emotional saying goodbye to it. He kept saying the cab held together just enough to give him the space he needed to survive.
He got the same make and model within a few weeks, just a newer year. He tells anyone who will listen why he chose that specific truck again. My mom half-jokes that he loves it more than he loves her.
I guess I'm posting this because we're still dealing with the aftermath — the other driver's insurance has been a headache, the rib injury led to some complications, and it's been a long road. But every time it feels overwhelming I just remind myself he's here.
Has anyone else had a close call like this where the vehicle itself felt like part of why you made it out? Feels weird to be grateful for a hunk of metal but here we are.